The Cure
by DracoNunquamDormiens
Summary: What happened when Sirius escaped Azkaban? A little missing moment set in PoA. Originally written for the Chocolate Challenge over at the LJ HP Challenges community, canon one shot, no slash, fits with Time of the Turning AU. No need to comment


**Disclaimer: Meh, you know Harry Potter isn't mine...**

* * *

**The Cure**

They were close, much too close.

The huge black dog bounded swiftly away from them, slipping on the muddy earth and losing itself amidst some bushes by the roadside, as quietly as a shadow.

The tracks left behind by his large paws did not bother him. They could not see him.

A twig cracked underneath his weight, and he flinched, hackles rising despite his effort to remain calm. They might be blind, but they had a sense of hearing like a—

Heart thumping, shivering despite the relative warmth of the evening, the dog backed further into the forest, a ghostly shadow hiding in the gloom, tail tucked between his hind legs, pale grey eyes narrowed for any type of movement, awaiting the lack of light preceding their arrival, the bitter cold.

Theirs was a world of the same blackness they spread, fear their weapon and their curse—he knew them better than any other being alive, had once known the shivers of relish as they fed off him like an extension of himself. They _needed_ it, they hungered for it, taking the best memories of his past, his only treasure, so they could appease their own craving for happiness for a few moments.

He had once been happy, very much so.

They knew it instantly—they usually fought over him before they fed, greedy to come closer, to drain him of energy until he collapsed, convulsing, to the stone floor of his cell.

They would back off, sated, never far enough to take away the cold, the voices swirling in his head like a whirlwind, bringing back the most wretched and twisted of experiences, and these were too many to count, too many for a mind to remember.

He had relived every moment of fear, of pain, of helplessness. He now knew why the mind chose to forget certain things. He wished he could forget all over again. Knew he wouldn't.

He did not fight them, not once; he deserved such punishment, after all. It confused them at first, but they were too hungry to care. It became a routine, a way of life. And one day, he stopped convulsing, stopped clawing at the walls in despair, stopped thinking of freedom. Forgot that he had once been happy, that he had once been whole.

In his eyes, he was innocent and guilty both—he had faltered at the last minute, told them to use Peter instead. He had as good as delivered them to Voldemort on a silver platter. Pain and regret became bitterness, fear became self-disgust. For doubting he could keep a secret.

He had not feared death and torture. It had been for James and Harry and Lily, after all. It wasn't like he had not ever risked neck and limb for them before, either. He only feared he would not endure, he feared being weak and telling, feared not being strong enough for his family... there _had_ to be a way around this.

So he decided to switch. To the eyes of the world, he would be the Secret Keeper, and be tortured without fear of discovery. Another would be the one to keep the Potters safe.

His doubts had as good as killed them.

He deserved much worse than this, he knew.

And this acceptance kept him sane.

The dog shifted, trying to make no noise, blending in with the darkened scenery in a often-practiced manner.

He had escaped, and all the good things had rushed back to him, like an avalanche of warmth and laughter—it had been enough to keep him going, to fulfil the duty he had sworn to do once, when he had been whole.

He had been happy, and he remembered.

It made him so much more vulnerable to them now.

The darkness lifted, almost reluctantly, and he knew it was safe to move again. He snapped into motion, one thought coming to his mind.

_Chocolate. _

For some it was a treat, something they took for granted, a part of their everyday lives, without consequence. He knew better.

Warmth. Strength. The only cure.

He needed it desperately, needed it to go on—his mouth watered almost painfully, remembering the taste, the sweetness...

_Honeydukes._

The dog shook itself wildly, trying to rid its shaggy coat from the mud it had gathered over the past days. It was a pity to look at; thin and filthy, eyes sunken yet shining like silver diamonds from the depths of the black, furry face.

None of the inhabitants of Hogsmeade paid it any heed; they were still reeling from the closeness of the Dementors, and the dog knew to take advantage of the most insufficient shelter. Once, years ago, it had done so for the sheer thrill of sneaking past unseen, more often than not spurred on by some dare. Now, it did so out of necessity, and part of it thanked its friends for throwing out challenges in the past.

"_Bet you ten Galleons that you can't nick a pair of pink knickers from Gladrags!"_

"_You could as well hand them over now, Potter—give me... three minutes."_

"_Black,** these are bloomers**!"_

"_They're still underwear, and they're **pink** as you requested, aren't they? Now cough up."_

"_They've got **teeth marks** on them!"_

Picky, picky...

Skills rusty, but once honed to perfection, came into play; a doorbell tinkled.

He was inside.

Smells and a swirl of colour assaulted him, bringing back sounds and tastes long forgotten, of happier days, of freedom.

_Four boys, bursting into Honeydukes for the first time, wishing they had three more pairs of arms to take at least one of each brand..._

"_Sirius, look! Ice Mice, Fizzing Whizzbees, Pepper Imps!"_

"_Cockroach Cluster, Blood-Flavoured Lollipops, ugh—I guess your side of the shop's way better... move over, James."_

"_I want a Sugar Quill—"_

"_Just **one**? Mate, get a box! James—you take that side, I'll take that other one. Remus, Peter... grab whatever you can. My treat!"_

"_Oy, don't push—where are the Jelly Jarveys?"_

_---_

_Two boys, laughing, hidden around a corner, their pockets bulging with sweets while the panicked shrieks of the owner carried down the street, "RAT! RAT!"_

It had been for Remus' surprise birthday party...

_---_

_One young man, entering the shop, looking for a box of chocolate frogs._

"_Why hello, Sirius—back so soon?"_

"_Harry has taken a liking for chocolate frogs, what can I say?"_

"_Mmm, and dare I assume you help him with those, eh? I haven't seen you buy that much chocolate since you were in fifth year."_

"_Always. Chocolate is a separate food group, you know. Right there next to milk and meat."_

"_You always had a terrible sweet tooth... Here. These all have the new series of cards—extra-special, just for you."_

He remembered the fate of that box. Harry had torn apart the cards, except for one of Derrick MacErwin, star Seeker of the National Quidditch Team... Harry had given that one to him, his first and most prized present from his year-old godson. But they had taken it away, years and years ago. He still missed it.

The dog remained motionless for a few moments, eyes unfocused as the memories swirled around him, a kaleidoscope of fondness, laughter, images, as brightly coloured as the Jelly Jarveys in the huge jar next to it. It wagged its tail tentatively, forcefully suppressing a happy yip, not knowing where to look first.

_There was a seventeen-year-old James, having a shoving contest with Remus to see who could get to the Exploding Bombons first... _

The dog gave a tiny start as heavy footsteps approached the door from outside, remembering it was not supposed to be seen. The memories were there, crowding the shop like bright-eyed, smiling ghosts, as it backed away into the open cellar door it had once used quite often—it still could find its way there without needing to look.

"Good afternoon," said a tired voice from the shop entrance. The dog froze, shrinking back into the shadows. It knew that voice.

"Oh, hello Remus, back again?" A rich, sweet female voice called after dispatching the last customer. The dog's ears rose slowly. Neither voice had changed much, after all those years...

"Yes, I'm afraid I shall need more of your specialty fudge for Poppy. She sends her regards."

"Is it that bad, my boy?"

A sigh.

"It could be worse."

"Tell me about it—we have those hideous beasts roaming freely about. I should not complain, mind—we have tripled our sales since last week," the fruity female voice replied with an unmistakable shudder. "But I prefer getting rid of those Dementors for good. Have they spotted Black yet?"

"No. There has been no news of him." A definite note of bitterness there. The dog backed off a step, then another, feeling suddenly like howling at the moon, its tail tucked between its hind legs once more.

"Will that be all, my boy?"

"Ah, no. I would like two packs of your best milk chocolate as well, and... Do you know what Harry's favourite treat is?"

A chuckle.

"Harry _Potter_, you mean?" By the tone she was using, the woman was smiling. "Why, chocolate frogs, of course." She still remembered, after all these years...

There was a rummaging noise, a soft _thud_ as the box was extracted from the nearby shelf.

"Here you go. Extra-special, for the lad."

Footsteps were heard moments later, the doorbell tinkled, and Madam Honeydukes retreated to the back of the shop, to enjoy a cuppa before closing time.

Down in the cellar, a ragged-looking man crouched before a box of chocolate frogs, licking his dry lips in anticipation. His eyes were grey, shining like diamonds in the darkness, focused on opening the small package he held in his hands.

Warmth. Sweetness.

The cure against the cold.

The source of strength he needed to go on.

He glanced at the card, and a slow smile crept over his face, which had long been unused to arrange itself into such an expression.

Derrick MacErwin, star Seeker of the National Quidditch Squad, 1981-85, zoomed around the goalposts of a Quidditch pitch.

_"Agg da pffff. Titch, Pafoo." Harry explained gravely, and graciously handed Sirius the card to keep._

"Titch it is, Harry." He echoed the words of his past self, placing the card safely in the pocket of his robes, before turning back into a dog and falling into a deep slumber.

* * *

Please review 


End file.
